Calliope
by Sundowhn
Summary: Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, come one, come all! Welcome to the big-top, to the greatest show on earth! Turn your eyes to center ring, and behold the story of the amazing, the uncanny, the swashbuckling, the incredible...Nightcrawler! This is an early years fanfic about Kurt Wagner.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: Characters and environments are the property of Marvel. I do not own the X-Men and I make nothing from this._  
_This is a story set in Germany, beginning approximately 5-6 years before Kurt Wagner joined the X-Men. It should be assumed that the language spoken through the bulk of the story is German._  
_I was unhappy with the muddle of Nightcrawler's back-story, and all the various versions of it, so I decided to try my hand at laying it out in coherent form. I've used elements(sometimes very small) from all the stories, to one degree or another. That includes the main comic-verse, movie-verse and the Origins retcon issue._  
_Jimaine (Amanda) features prominently in the story as well._  
_Thanks to M. Hammerman for her invaluable insight, especially regarding Jimaine._

* * *

_**Chapter One**_

"Don't you dare drop me again, Kurt Szardos!" Jimaine's green eyes narrowed in mock warning as she looked down at him.

She was perched, standing on his shoulders as he swayed unsteadily under her weight.

"No, no...hold the calves to steady her, not her ankles! Do you want to cripple the poor girl?" Sabu, der Jahrmarkt's former premiere acrobat, as well as Kurt and Jimaine's instructor, limped over to the pair of them, pointing his cane for emphasis. "You are the bedrock of this routine. If you are not steady, all will crumble!"

Kurt grimaced and tried to shift his hold, but his knee buckled and they both tumbled down. He cushioned his foster-sister's fall and had the breath knocked out of him for his trouble. Kurt sat up wheezing while Jimaine shook her head. "Are you okay?" she asked.

He nodded, embarrassed.

She stood and looked at Sabu with her hands on her hips. Jimaine was fifteen, and considered herself very much grown. "Sabu, I _told_ you! Kurt is the best trapeze artist we have, but he's just not big enough to be my support in the floor routine. You're going to have to use Ronaldo again."

"Ronaldo! People don't come to der Jahrmarkt to see _Ronaldo_, they come to see our acrobatic blue devil! Sabu patted Kurt fondly on the shoulder. "It just takes practice, you know this. I taught you this."

"Yes, well our blue devil needs to grow a little more." She smiled wryly and reached down to help Kurt up. Standing, he was still several inches shorter than she was, and at least fifteen pounds lighter. He looked fairly miserable at his most recent failure.

"C'mon little brother, you're only thirteen. By this time next year, you'll have hit a growth spurt, especially with the way you eat." Kurt's ravenous appetite was a running joke in their family, though he remained whip thin. Their mother claimed it was because he was utterly unable to sit still for any length of time. He was always jumping, or climbing or hanging upside down or _something_. Being forced to be calm and attentive in the impromptu classroom set up for the younger members of the circus drove Kurt to distraction, and even when he forced his body to comply and be still, his tail curled and wriggled in rebellion behind him. It just wasn't in him to be sedentary.

Sabu growled reluctantly, "yes, all right. Perhaps next year. For now, practice your somersaults, Kurt. Your work in the air is brilliant, but your dismount and landing leave much to be desired."

Kurt heaved a sigh. The man was a slave-driver, satisfied only with perfection. Jimaine winked at him conspiratorially when Sabu's back was turned. Back to work.

Several hours later, he spied Jimaine on his way back from a wash in the river. He ran to catch up with her. "Going my way?" Kurt grinned.

She smiled in return. "Guess so, are you headed back home?" Home was a small, compact trailer at the edge of the encampment.

"Yes, it's dinner time and I'm starving."

Jimaine cut her eyes at him. "Look, I'm sorry about earlier. It isn't that I don't think you're good enough for the floor show, I just don't want you to hurt yourself - or me." She nudged his shoulder with her own and grinned.

"I know, I'm not strong enough, yet. But I will be!" Kurt grinned and flexed his thin muscles, to the merry sound of her laughter.

"Kurti, you are something else." She reached over and tousled his hair.

"Of course I am, I'm the incredible Nightcrawler!" He flamboyantly took on the pose used in the circus flier and winked.

"Ugh, if your head gets any bigger, you won't fit through the door."

"So, would you like to sneak into town with me after dinner? _Sinbad_ is playing, and the cinema in Mittenwald has a wonderful, dark balcony to hide in."

"_Again? _How many times are you going to watch that film? And Kurt, you _know_ what Mama said about you going into town. If she catches you, you're in for it." Jimaine looked at him sternly.

He frowned. "You aren't going to tell her, are you? Jimaine..."

She sighed and relented. "No, I'm not going to tell her, but be careful. You know what happened last time."

"Yes, yes I know. Enough with the lectures," he replied in a put-upon tone. "You were a lot more fun before you decided to be grown up. So are you coming with me or not?"

"Not. Jutta's helping me do my hair tonight."

"What are you doing to you hair this time?"

"Bleaching it blonde. Sabu says it will be more eye-catching in the show."

"You're eye-catching enough." Kurt gave her his most charming smile.

"Ha! So how do you think I'll look as a blonde bombshell?" She preened and patted her hair as they walked.

He shrugged. "I like the way it is now."

"You have no imagination. Besides, Antonio thinks it'll be dazzling." Jimaine smiled dreamily.

Kurt rolled his eyes at the last, not that it was visible.

Antonio Latuso and his father Rafaele had joined the circus in late winter, bringing with them two trained lions for their act. It seemed the only thing the single females of der Jahrmarkt between the ages of thirteen and thirty could talk about now was Antonio. The boy was seventeen, tall and muscular with dark, Sicilian good looks. Jutta had described him as a "Greek god, dropped to earth." In short, he was everything Kurt wasn't. He had disliked Antonio on principal, but once the fellow had opened his mouth, Kurt had decided he disliked him in fact, as well. He was vain and condescending.

"Why do you care what _he_ thinks?" Kurt asked with disgust.

"Oh Kurt, _really_..." Jimaine gave an eye-roll of her own. "Ooh, there he is now! Toni!" She waved and called out. Much to Kurt's disappointment, the older boy turned and made his way towards them with his characteristic swagger and a smile.

"You are done with practicing today?" Antonio smiled at Jimaine, ignoring Kurt. The thickly accented German made Kurt cringe.

She smiled and nodded, blushing prettily. "Where are you off to?"

"Feeding cats," He held up a large bag, dripping blood. "You would like to come watch?"

"Could I?" She beamed. "You don't think it's too dangerous?"

"I have fierce animals under perfect control. They..."

Kurt interrupted sullenly, "They're tame Jimaine, no more dangerous than big pussy cats." He crossed his arms, his tail twitching in irritation.

Toni laughed heartily. "Little blue boy, you come play with big pussy cats sometime when I am not there, see how tame they are." He continued chuckling. "Maybe they like you, you have things in common, yes? They have tail, you have tail, they have pointy teeth, you have pointy teeth, they have fur, you have fur." His dark eyes glinted. "You come, you just be careful not to get fleas."

Kurt's eyes narrowed and he clenched his jaw.

"Kurt's no animal, Toni!" Jimaine gasped and rounded on him, righteous anger glittering in her expression.

Toni met her eyes, then backed down, holding his hands up in surrender. "Is just a joke. I am joking!" He smiled and draped his arm around Kurt's tense shoulders. "Your brother is good kid, see? He knows I am...how you say...fooling around, yes?" Kurt looked at Toni, unsmiling.

Jimaine looked between the two of them in indecision. Kurt could see plainly on her face the conflict between her protectiveness towards him and her desire to spend time with Toni. Smiling thinly, he decided for her, and put on a mask of unconcern. "So long as Jimaine doesn't bring fleas home with her, then the joke would quit being funny." He forced a laugh, which the older boy picked up.

"Ha! A good joke. Your brother made a good joke, Jimaine. See? No harm done."

She peered at Kurt before giving him a small smile and shrugging. "Want to let Mom know I'm not hungry?"

He nodded and waved half-heartedly as Jimaine and Toni ambled off together, talking.

Kurt frowned dejectedly, dragging his feet the rest of the way home. His excitement over seeing _Sinbad_ again had vanished.

"Hey runt, why the long face?" Stefan teased, as Kurt walked inside the cramped trailer the four of them called home.

"Don't call me that!" Kurt snapped, then dropped his eyes at his foster brother's look of surprise.

"Woah, somebody's had a bad day." Stefen looked at him archly. "What gives?"

Kurt shrugged, feeling guilty about his waspish response to the old nickname. Stefen had called him 'runt' - short for 'runt of the litter' - for as long as he could remember. His brother was the oldest of the Szardos children, at almost eighteen. Kurt dropped into a kitchen chair with a audible _thunk_. "Sabu cut me from the floor show...too small." He didn't go into anything else.

Stefan lit a cigarette and leaned back in his chair, balancing on the back two legs, his black eyes narrowed. "You'll grow, don't worry about it. I was smaller than you, at your age. That's what's got your tail tangled?"

Kurt shrugged again.

"Stefan, how many times have I asked you _not_ to smoke in here?" Margali came from the back of the trailer fanning her hand before her face. "Outside, now."

"Yeah, Ma, I'm going. Dinner ready soon?"

"It's about to be on the table."

After Kurt relayed Jimaine's message, he spent the rest of dinner in silence. Considering he normally carried most of the conversation, both his mother and Stefan were watching him with concern by the time they finished their meal.

"Want to help me wash up, Kurti?" Margali asked softly.

"Sure Mom." He still wasn't smiling. _That's a bad sign, _she thought. _What happened?_ She worried more about her youngest than the other two put together. He was just so sensitive. He wore his feelings on his shoulders.

"Well, I've got a date, catch you later r...Kurt." Stefan patted him on the shoulder as he was leaving.

"I wash, you dry?" Margali peered at him from the corner of her eye after Stefen had gone. The quiet stretched out as they both went about the chore. "Are you going to tell me what's really bothering you, son?" She asked after a time.

"I told you."

"Mmhmmm. I've been your mother for thirteen years, you think I don't know you better than that by now? What is it really? Did you and Jimaine get into an argument?" Her children didn't often fight, but there was always the chance.

"No." He dried the dishes and put them away mechanically.

His single syllable answer was as worrying as his earlier silence. That was completely unlike him. Kurt could turn anything into a drawn out, embellished story. "Then what happened?" She put her hand on his arm and pulled him to sit down at the table next to her.

Kurt stared at his hands clasped together on the table, the thick nails pared short to prevent them from looking like claws. To his eyes, they looked hideous and deformed, with nothing human about them. Margali brushed his hair back from his eyes and waited patiently for him to answer. Finally, in a whisper, he asked, "Am I human?"

"What?" Margali stared at him, wide-eyed and stunned.

"I just wanted to know - am I human? That boy, Antonio, said I was like his lions and he's right. I have fur, fangs, a tail - I'm not very different than they are at all, the only difference is that I can talk." He rested his chin on his arms. "Maybe one day I'll be in a cage the same as they are."

"Oh Kurt no!" Margali wrapped her arm around him protectively. "That boy is an idiot; nothing more than a stupid bully! You don't listen to him, you listen to me!" She shook him gently.

"You're just as human as I am, as anyone else is." Her tone gentled. "Yes, my youngest baby, you _do_ look different, but it doesn't mean you're less than human. If anything, it means you're more than the rest of us. You're special, and anyone who takes the time to know you will realize that."

He shrugged and leaned into her embrace. She continued, "you're _my_ son, and no Szardos ever hangs his head, do you hear me? You look the world in the eye, boy." She lifted his chin with her fingertips and gazed at him with over-flowing love.

Meeting her eyes, he just couldn't bring himself to reply with what he was thinking - he wasn't really a Szardos, just a strange-looking foundling she had taken pity on. He didn't even know his real name. Instead, he nodded and gave her a small smile. She returned it, and leaned forward to kiss his forehead. "There's my boy."

* * *

He lay in bed later that night, hovering just on the edge of sleep. The familiar little sounds of his world wrapped his consciousness up like a warm, secure blanket. The sound of his mother's pattering footsteps as she went about her final chores before sleep; the creak of the trailer shifting in the wind; the soft noises of the rest of the camp settling in for the night - all of those things lulled him into relaxation. He heard his brother's sure tread when he arrived back home, followed by the low voices that continued long after sleep finally laid its claim on Kurt.

Late the following day, Kurt was aimlessly walking around camp, engrossed in an adventure book. He wasn't paying attention to where he was, and wasn't going anywhere in particular. A rough shove of his shoulder that slung his book from his hands caught him completely off guard. He looked up in startled indignation and found himself faced with Antonio. The 'Greek god dropped to earth' was looking a bit worse for wear, sporting a blackened eye and a split lip that was pulled up into a sneer at the moment.

"Little blue boy cannot fight his own battles, eh? What, you send your big brother to take care of Toni?" Antonio spat on the ground at Kurt's feet in disgust. "Brother will not always be there, you remember that." The older boy stalked off, not looking back.

Kurt watched him leave, a mixture of embarrassment for himself and affection for Stefan warring within him.


	2. Chapter 2

_**Chapter Two**_

_The following year_

"Parry! No, not like that, like this..." Stefan demonstrated the move once more to Kurt. "Try again."

Their blunted metal swords clanged together, echoing in the small clearing where they practiced. Stefan was an accomplished swordsman, and was trying to teach his younger foster-brother the art. The plan was to include him for a small portion of Stefan's act eventually, as a foil for the hero.

Kurt tossed his hair back from his eyes and concentrated. He corrected his stance and lunged forward. His brother easily blocked him and countered, the waster sword slapping against Kurt's thigh with a crack. "Ow!" he complained, then almost lost his balance as Stefan attacked, taking advantage of Kurt's distraction. "Hey! I wasn't ready!"

Stefan grinned playfully. "You think if this was real, I'd wait on you to quit whining? C'mon, get with it, runt. Show me what you've learned."

Kurt feinted to the left, then swung the sword in a downward arc. This time, he almost got past Stefan's defenses.

"Good! Now you're getting there!" Stefan beamed.

Kurt didn't take the time to glow in his brother's praise, instead he followed up with a flurry of quick, slashing moves designed to wear the opponent down. With his natural agility, they were impressive, and he was justifiably proud. Kurt was so intent on this, he didn't notice the leg sweep until it was too late. He toppled to the ground in an inglorious heap, his weapon thrown a full seven feet away. He hurriedly flipped onto his belly and was crawling for his sword when he felt the flat of a blade slap across his backside painfully. He yelped and glared at a laughing Stefan standing over him. "Gotcha. Never turn your back on an enemy." He winked and leaned down to help Kurt up.

Kurt stood and rubbed his stinging rump, smiling wryly. "Very funny, but I'll get you for that little humiliation one day."

"Oh that wasn't humiliation. Humiliation would be if I did it in front of an audience, and you better believe I will."

"In your dreams."

They both laughed and reached an unspoken agreement to take a break and rest in the final warmth of the setting sun. They sat leaning on opposite sides of the same tree.

"How much longer before I can be in the act, do you think?" Kurt asked.

"I don't know, at the rate your going, you'll be better than me in no time, then you'll be the starring trapeze artist, acrobat _and_ swordsman."

"Ha! I'll never be as good as you in sword play - not in a million years." The way Kurt felt about his older, more worldly sibling bordered on hero worship.

"If you say so, but this time last year you were all upset because you were too little to be in the floor show, now look at you, hogging the spotlight again." Stefan teased, chuckling.

He was right. The past year had brought considerable changes in Kurt's physique. In that time, Kurt had grown perhaps four inches taller and finally started filling out through the shoulders and chest. His voice was also in the process of deepening, though it still squeaked alarmingly at times, much to his embarrassment.

It hadn't been long at all, once Sabu had included him in the acrobatic tumbling performance, before he surpassed the more experienced Ronaldo in the complicated routine and became the undisputed star of that portion of the show, as well.

Kurt shrugged, trying to decide if Stefan was really teasing or not. Finally, he asked, "do you really think I'm hogging the spotlight?"

"What?" Stefan reached around and swatted Kurt playfully on top of the head. "I'm kidding. Whatever spotlight you've got, you've earned."

"So, it doesn't bother you?"

"Don't be a bone head. 'Course it doesn't. What, do you think I want to spend the rest of my life in this ragged, old side-show?"

Kurt turned to look at him now. "What do you mean? Where would you go?"

"Anywhere but here." Stefan looked pensively off in the distance.

"But why?"

"Why?" Stefan repeated. "I...I just don't know if I can stay here."

Kurt peered at him and said in a small voice, "I don't understand, we're your family, where else do you belong?"

"Family, yeah." Stefan responded in a gruff tone, then looked at Kurt with an intensity that sent a shiver down the younger boy's spine.

"Will you promise me something?"

Kurt's mouth was dry as he nodded. "Anything."

Stefan played with a blade of grass without meeting Kurt's eyes. "If I were to...you know...go bad...will you promise to stop me?"

"Go bad? Stefan, what do you mean? You may get into trouble sometimes, but there's nothing _bad_ about you."

"C'mon, I've got something to show you, but you have to be quiet."

Kurt nodded and followed Stefan through the woods and back to the edge of the encampment. It was full dark now, and there was no moon, but Kurt's sensitive eyes saw nearly as well as if it were daylight. The crept up behind the small wagon, sitting off alone, where their mother sometimes told the fortunes of paying customers. Kurt could see flickering candlelight in the little window, and heard a soft, familiar voice speaking in a language he couldn't understand.

_Jam tibi impero et præcipio maligne spiritus! _

_ut confestim allata et circulo discedas, _

_absque omni strepito, terrore, clamore et foetore **_

Stefan indicated silently that Kurt should look inside. Carefully, quiet as only Kurt could be, he climbed up and peered in. What he saw made the fur all over his body begin to stand erect.

His mother sat cross-legged in the middle of an intricate pattern drawn on the floor, surrounded by a circle. The carpet that normally lay there was rolled and propped in a corner. He saw her in profile, her eyes closed and her lips moving in a soft monotone voice.

_asque sine omni damno mei tam animæ quam corporis **_

It appeared, for only a moment, that the woman who had raised him wore curving horns on her head. He blinked and the shadows outside the circle moved and pulsed, seeming to take form. It looked like a huge, clawed hand reaching out for her. The thing roiled and curled back away from the circle, only to try again. Kurt imagined the movement to be angry. He leapt silently down and backed away, his eyes wide. He jumped and bit his lip to keep from crying out when Stefan grabbed his arm and pulled him into the forest and well away from the wagon.

Once they were a safe distance away, Kurt turned to him, asking in a shaken voice, "What _was_ that?"

Stefan looked at him levelly. "That's our family legacy. That's the Winding Way."

"The Winding Way? I don't understand. What was Mama doing?"

"Banishing whatever she called up, back to where it came from."

"And this...this Winding Way...you believe it might make you go bad?"

Stefan nodded. "Maybe, I don't know."

For the first time in Kurt's memory, his handsome brother looked something other than confident. At that moment, he looked terrified. "I can feel it sometimes, little whispers that tickle my mind when I'm trying to sleep. Mom says I have the gift, but I think that's one gift I want to return." Stefan tried to smile, but the effort only made him look sick. "Will you promise me?"

Kurt didn't want to accept that promise. The thought was too horrible for him to wrap his mind around. "Why me? What can I do? Does Jimaine know about this?"

Stefan nodded. "She knows, it's her inheritance, too. And I'm asking you because you're the only one I can trust. Now _will you promise me_, little brother?" Fathomless black eyes met and held onto glowing yellow ones.

"I promise." Kurt said softly, feeling a tendril of dread curl around his heart that this oath would ever have to be fulfilled.

Like magic, the familiar cavalier expression his brother normally wore returned, and Kurt had to wonder if he'd imagined the earlier intensity.

"C'mon, runt, let's find something to do. Want to see if Lars has any more of that apple wine, maybe play some darts?"

"Sure, Stefan."

Before long, the seriousness of their conversation was all but forgotten in normal brotherly banter.

"Greta has been asking about you." Stefan playfully dug an elbow into Kurt's ribs as they walked.

"Greta, the sword swallower? Why?"

Stefan chuckled. "Why do _you_ think?"

Kurt shrugged, frowning. " I wouldn't know, I barely know her. Sabu said she takes an interest in helping boys learn the ropes, but I don't want to be a sword swallower or anything, why would she want to talk to me?"

Stefan erupted in deep belly laughs now. "You're a piece of work! You really don't know, do you?" He looked over, still snickering, putting an arm around Kurt's shoulder companionably. "Well let me tell you about those ropes..."

* * *

**Now I command and charge you, O evil spirit! that you immediately depart from the circle, abstaining from all noise, terror, tumult, and stench

**and if you refuse I will damn you both in body and soul


	3. Chapter 3

_**Chapter Three**_

Kurt was dying. He knew he was - well, at least it felt that way. He groaned and tried to will the room to stop spinning. It refused to comply and he lurched up, vomiting into the bucket next to his bed. He was sick again, for the third time this week. The nauseating headaches that sent flashing lights sizzling through his brain and made his sleep wretched and broken, were getting worse rather than better. He lay back in misery and then flinched at the sound of footsteps approaching. To his heightened senses, they sounded like hammer blows.

"Kurti? I brought you some more of Mama's tonic." Jimaine said in a soft voice as she came into the room. She sat down next to him on the bed, and he tried to control his heaving gut in response to even that slight movement. He swallowed the bile back down, but when she tried to prop him up so he could drink, his effort was for nothing.

Jimaine wiped off his face with a cool, damp rag afterwards. "I guess that answers whether or not you feel better."

Kurt nodded and kept his eyes tightly closed against even the minimal light that filtered into the room. Normally - well at least for the past several months - he would do just about anything to be the recipient of such tender attention from Jimaine. Right now, he was just too sick to care.

"Try and drink this, now. Mom says it will help, and you've got to get something in your system."

He managed a few sips before his stomach rebelled again. By that time, Margali had joined them in the cramped, stuffy room.

"It's hot as a furnace in here," she noted, keeping her voice to a near whisper.

"He can't stand the light enough to open the window, Mama."

"I know." Kurt felt his mother's cool hand brush against his face and heard her mutter something under her breath. The jagged pain in his skull lost a fraction of its potency and he breathed a small sigh of relief, even knowing the effect would be temporary. He dozed off to the cadence of their whispered conversation and didn't waken when they left the room.

* * *

Back in the main living area, Jimaine twisted her hands with worry. "What do you think's wrong with him? You know he's almost never sick."

"I haven't a clue." Margali sank into a chair and thoughtfully chewed her thumbnail.

"Shouldn't we take him to a doctor or something?"

"A _doctor?_ Girl, what do you think a doctor would do if he got a look at Kurt?"

Jimaine stared at her toes. "So what, we just let him suffer?" She paced in the tiny space allowed. "Why can't you do something, Mama? You're a sorceress."

Margali sighed in frustration. "Don't you think I'm doing all I can?"

"Well, what good is being a sorceress if you can't help someone?"

"What good, indeed..." Margali asked softly.

* * *

The following week, Kurt was at least closer to feeling like his normal self. _Perhaps it was just a nasty, long-lasting bug_, he mused. Under his mother's protests, he had resumed his regular practice routines as of yesterday. As the saying went, 'the show must go on', and Kurt was well aware that he was the primary monetary draw of their small circus these days. To not do his part would be to let everyone down.

He and Jimaine were currently practicing a new trapeze act that involved juggling lit torches. Kurt had already singed his fur several times as he watched her limbering up from the corner of his eye. God, but she was beautiful! He had to avert his gaze before his hormone-filled young man's body gave the train of his thoughts away. Ever since Stefan had talked him into letting Greta 'show him the ropes' - an experience that, while_ immensely _entertaining, was emotionally empty - Kurt understood at least part of what he was feeling for his foster-sister, though that certainly wasn't all of it.

No, what he felt for Jimaine wasn't just lust. Lately, the sound of her voice was like soothing music. Her touch sent jolts of electricity through him, and her matter-of-fact demeanor and calm acceptance of his freakish nature gave him hope that she might one day see him as more than just the boy her mother raised. He loved her, it was that simple, but her heart apparently belonged to that Neanderthal, Antonio. Kurt scowled.

"Smile Kurt, smile! Remember, these people are paying good money to see happy circus performers. If they wanted to be depressed, they'd stay home!" Jimaine called to him from her perch.

"And far be it from me, fair sister, to ever disappoint an audience." He leapt over and crouched down next to her. "After all, aside from show business, and the chance to share the spotlight with the beautiful Jimaine Szardos, what more to life is there?" Kurt grinned flirtatiously.

Jimaine giggled. "The things you say! You almost make me wish you weren't my foster brother."

"How almost?" Kurt teased.

"Kurt!" She nudged him with her shoulder. "You know I find your attention flattering, but - for your own sake - you've got to realize there's a whole world waiting out there beyond this circus, and you'll find someone else who will see past your looks and..."

"Love you as I do," Kurt finished in a deadpan voice. "I know - so you've said."

She smiled gently. "Why don't you come with me Kurt? I want to leave and see more than these sad little towns we pass through. I want to see the world - all of it!"

His heart leapt at the thought that she wanted him to go with her, but then suffocating reality descended. With effort, he kept his tone light when he replied. "Jimaine Szardos, World Traveler - that has a nice ring to it, but I'm afraid I can't go with you."

He continued, "you're young and beautiful with the support of everyone. Me? I'm a circus attraction - a handful of somersaults away from the side show. I was so abhorrent that even as an infant I was abandoned and left for dead. If it hadn't been for your mother, I would be."

Looking at him levelly, she replied, "Speaking on behalf of everyone who has ever loved you - legion that we are - their loss was our gain. Don't let some mistake made fourteen years ago by faceless people dictate the way you live your..."

He interrupted her well-intentioned, and often repeated words, with a back flip, landing with a flourish about five feet away. "The bottom line is it's only show biz! Now come on, we don't get anything done by sitting here talking. If I don't improve with these torches, the incredible Nightcrawler is going to turn into the incredibly toasted Nightcrawler!"

* * *

Later that day, Kurt was cooling off in a nearby pond. The day was a muggy one, and he felt like he'd been half-baked by the spotlights trained on him during the afternoon show. He floated on his back in the cool water, his costume discarded on the shore. The beginnings of another headache were coming on and he grimaced in anticipation. _Please, let it be one of the mild ones this time. _The sound of approaching voices didn't register until they were very close. He stood up in the waist deep water in a panic. It was broad daylight and there was no way he could reach his clothes in time. He saw the couple walking towards where he was now, though they'd yet to spot him. It was no one he recognized, and that was even worse. Not only would he be caught skinny dipping, but he'd probably scare the local citizenry witless. He could see the headlines now, _'The Devil Bathes Nude in Local Pond'. _If he weren't so frightened, it would be funny. He wished with all his heart that he could just disappear and avoid the coming drama. Then suddenly, he did.

Disoriented and retching, it was several minutes before he realized what happened. He was sitting in the forest, still minus his clothes, but away from the pond and the voices. Kurt looked around and tried to remember how he got there. He had been in the water, in a near panic about being discovered, then he was...here. He remembered a sound, now, like a rush of air maybe. _Sfamp, whamf, bamf _- something like that. It wasn't something he'd heard before, so he really couldn't decide what it reminded him of. He also smelled burning matches. He sniffed at himself. Yes, it definitely came from him. What had just happened? What was _wrong_ with him? Fear curled around in his chest. Kurt had doubts before on whether or not he was really human, now he was almost certain he couldn't be.

He sat crouched with his arms wrapped around his knees, rocking in misery.

* * *

X-Men Unlimited V1, #4


	4. Chapter 4

_**Chapter Four**_

Kurt trudged through the woods, his large feet crunching in the snow. It was freezing out, and the landscape was painted white. The sky promised more snow to come, but it didn't make much difference to him. There were advantages to having fur, though he was still bundled against the cold.

He had escaped for the afternoon from der Jahrmarkt's winter camp, and no concern over bad weather was going to force him to return to the waiting boredom. He hated off-season. The applause of the crowd and the adrenaline rush of a performance had become an addiction. Winter months, when the circus bunkered down until spring, felt like they would last forever sometimes. It was only December now. Kurt sighed, his breath a white cloud before him.

Movement ahead drew his eye, and he stilled, watching as a doe wandered across the path in front of him. It paused and looked up at him with an alert gaze, ready to bolt. Kurt didn't move, and the animal apparently determined he was no threat, because she continued her walk at a leisurely pace until she was out of sight. _If only other human beings would have that reaction,_ he mused.

He tried to guess how far he'd come. It didn't feel like more than a mile or so, as the crow flies. Kurt's sense of distance and direction had grown much more acute since the summer, when he'd first disappeared in a puff of smoke. Since that time, he'd discovered it wasn't a one time fluke, and had practiced and developed the talent in secret. He was terrified of anyone else finding out. What would they say? Surely this was evidence that he was even stranger than they might think, that he was, in fact, an aberration.

Up ahead, he saw a small stone building with stained glass windows. He smiled and walked closer, making sure he was unobserved.

One of the windows was open a crack and Kurt peered curiously inside. Ever since he was a small boy, he'd been drawn to these tiny village churches, especially ones like this, on the outskirts of town. The sound of the bells ringing and echoing through the countryside, the soft, beautiful hymns, spoke to something in his soul - it touched some deep ache inside him and soothed it.

Dieter, the taciturn old calliope player for the circus, had given him the worn copy of a bible several years ago, when Kurt had tentatively asked what he was reading. Since then, he'd read the book through several times, fascinated. He had so many questions and no one to ask. What was the purpose of life? What made man different than beast? Was humanity simply an accident of nature, or was there more to it? He'd read that God had created all living things, and that all living things had a purpose and were good in His sight, but Kurt wondered where he fit into that. Surely that didn't include him.

He was careful to remain hidden, as he always did. He had yet to ever actually enter any of these places of worship. Deciding he might be able to see better from a tree nearby, he shimmied up and lay flat on his belly. There wasn't a service going on, and the priest, a bespectacled, elderly man with a care-worn face and dressed in somber black robes, had just lit a candle and knelt to pray. Kurt watched as the man's face relaxed peacefully, a soft smile playing about his lips. Whatever communication he received from God apparently pleased him. Kurt had prayed, at least as well as he knew how, but he just wasn't sure God would listen to someone like him. If He was listening, he certainly wasn't letting on.

Having finished his communion with the divine, the old priest stood and ambled towards the back of the church and out of Kurt's line of sight. The small, painted statues of saints that adorned niches set into the walls were so lovely. Kurt wished he could get close enough for a better look.

A small sound alerted him to the fact that he wasn't alone. Kurt looked down with alarm, and saw the old man staring up at him with a bemused look.

"It's a bit cold out for climbing trees, isn't it?" the priest asked.

"I...uhm..." Kurt fought the urge to teleport away, after all, the man didn't seem afraid or angry.

"You're an articulate one. Care to come inside where it's warmer? These old bones of mine just can't stand the cold nowadays."

"Yes, thank you," Kurt answered in a subdued voice. This was new. He followed the man inside, his eyes trying to take in everything at once. "It's beautiful," he murmured.

"Do you think so? I like it. It isn't anything fancy, though." The priest smiled. "Would you care for a cup of something warm to drink? Cocoa, or perhaps tea?"

Kurt nodded, and wandered through the little sanctuary while the old man busied himself in a back room. Kurt stared for a long time at a statue of the Virgin Mary. It made him think of his birth mother. _What kind of woman was she, _he wondered to himself. _What kind of woman leaves her own child to die?_

The priest pressed a cup of steaming hot chocolate into Kurt's hand before inviting him to sit down.

"So what brings you out on a day like today, and why were you hiding in my tree?" the man asked pleasantly.

Kurt smiled hesitantly. He didn't want to show his fangs and scare the fellow away. "I was out for a walk, and saw your church. I was just curious. Churches are beautiful to me, and I wanted to see inside. How...how did you know I was out there?"

"Would you believe an angel told me?" the priest asked, with a twinkle in his eye.

Kurt's eyes widened in surprise. "An angel?"

The priest laughed then, a deep, warm sound. "That one, just there." He pointed to a small statue near the altar, with a bronze plaque fixed to the base.

Kurt eyed the little statue with some trepidation, and wondered if the old man had lost his wits, out here all alone.

The mischievous twinkle was still in the fellow's eyes when he finally clarified, "I saw your reflection in the plaque as I prayed."

Kurt smiled then, and chuckled, relieved that he was apparently dealing with someone sane, after all. "You had me going, Father."

"I did, didn't I?" The priest's good humor was infectious. "You aren't one of my regular parishioners, but you seem a nice enough boy. Am I correct that I've seen your likeness on circus posters in the past?"

Kurt nodded slightly. People were suppose to believe he was wearing a costume. Who knew what they'd do if they found out the fur and fangs were all too real? "You won't tell anyone, will you?" He asked, worried.

The old priest looked at him kindly. "Not if you don't want me to. Now, where are my manners? We haven't been properly introduced." He held out his hand. "I'm Father Daniel Wagner."

Kurt shook the man's hand, watching closely to see how he reacted to the feel of fur rather than skin. He didn't react at all. "My name is Kurt."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Kurt. So why do you think God brought you here this evening?"

The question took Kurt by surprise. He was here because he stumbled across the little church on his walk and he said as much.

"Oh no, my boy, you're here because God _wants_ you to be here." The old priest smiled serenely.

"Why would God want anything to do with me?"

"Why wouldn't he?"

Kurt stared. "Look at me. Haven't you noticed anything...different?"

Father Wagner grinned impishly. "What two of God's miracles are exactly alike?"

"I'm not sure I'd exactly call the way I look a _miracle_..."

"What would you call it then?"

"Well, I was enough of an abomination that my own mother abandoned me."

"Yet, your Father in Heaven never did. And clearly, someone found you and didn't consider you an abomination, either. The fact that you sit here before me, a pleasant, well-mannered young man, proves that." The priest sipped his tea.

"Yes..." Kurt answered thoughtfully.

"Just because one person didn't know how to appreciate the miracle of life, doesn't mean no one will, yes?"

"True, I suppose."

"There's no 'suppose' to it. You are one of God's miracles, my boy, just like everyone else, and beloved in His sight."

Kurt stared at his hands - those inhuman hands. "But I'm not just like everyone else."

Father Wagner sighed. "We're going in circles. Stay with me, please." He eyed Kurt over the top of his spectacles. "Each and every living thing is a miracle of God, but no two of those miracles are exactly alike. Even identical twins have differences. I am a miracle of God. The robin who sings in that tree out there in the dead of winter is a miracle of God. The tree itself is a miracle of God. And you, Kurt, are also a miracle of God. Do you understand, now?"

Giving the priest a doubtful look, Kurt shrugged. "If I'm so beloved of God, why did he make me this way? If He wants me to look like this, why didn't he at least give other people an open mind about it, rather than such fear and prejudice?"

"Well, I could say that He has a divine plan for you, as He does for everyone. I could say that everyone has a cross to bear and the trials and tribulations of this world make us stronger spiritually, but all that is a fancy way of saying I don't know. That's something you have to figure out for yourself." The old man winked at him. "All I can tell you is to have faith that there _is_ a reason."

Kurt was silent for several moments, taking in what Father Wagner had said.

"I should be getting back now." Kurt finally said, still thoughtful.

"Of course, you don't want to be caught out in the weather. My old bones tell me we'll have a snowstorm tonight."

Kurt nodded. "Thank you for the hot chocolate, and for the talk."

"Anytime. You will come back won't you?" Father Wagner gazed at him steadily, and Kurt saw what almost looked like a challenge in his eyes.

"Yes, certainly. I would like that very much," Kurt said, and meant it.

"Then I look forward to seeing you again."

He visited the old man many times that winter, and the two of them became fast friends. Kurt never had a father figure in his life, and the priest filled that role admirably. It was one of the few relationships Kurt experienced outside of der Jahrmarkt, and when the circus moved on in spring, he missed Father Wagner terribly.


	5. Chapter 5

_**Chapter Five**_

"No, like this, Blue." Jutta swung Kurt around in time to the music.

He tried to execute the dance move gracefully, but his tail tangled around their legs again, nearly toppling them both.

"Ach, I'll never get this!" Kurt muttered, underneath the sound of laughter.

"Sure you'll get it. You can walk a tightrope with your eyes closed, dancing should be no big deal." She giggled, her red hair beginning to escape from its ponytail.

The two of them were standing in the practice tent. The younger members of der Jahrmarkt used it as a place to get together when they weren't working. A transistor radio had been brought in, and a card table with chairs. There was a dart board at one end, as well. The set up wasn't much, but it was somewhere to go and something to do. Youth called to youth, after all.

The strong odors of straw and sawdust mixed with the smell of beer, and most of them were in attendance this Tuesday evening in late summer. Jimaine and Lena sat on a bale of hay by the door, half-way watching Kurt's dance lesson, but mostly gossiping. Stefan, Lars, and Toni had been deep into a game of cards, until the impromptu floor show grabbed their attention.

Kurt was relieved to see Stefan acting like his usual self. Lately, his brother had been argumentative and moody, spending more and more time off by himself.

"What do you know, the star of der Jahrmarkt has two left feet!" Lars crowed.

"But he makes up for it by being so cute!" Lena retorted, winking at Kurt. "Have you ever seen such a sweet smile?"

"I think I saw such a smile on a Doberman once."

Jutta looked at the Italian lion-tamer with a smirk. "You're just jealous because Kurt's a star and you're not, Toni."

Lars and Stefan both cackled at that.

"Jealous? Of _him_?"

Taking in the growing tension, Jimaine interrupted at this point, "all right, all right, you boys just go back to your little game. Jutta, let me try." She got up and walked over to them. Grinning at Kurt, she held out her arms in a traditional dance pose. "Jutta's right, anyone who has your natural grace can learn to dance, now let's try this again, and start with the basics."

Eighteen now, Jimaine was stunning by anyone's standards; she was tall, with a heart-shaped face, long golden hair and a body toned by years of acrobatic work. She radiated confidence and vitality.

She placed his hand on her waist, and her own on his shoulder, stepping just close enough to brush against him. Kurt's heart thudded like a drum in his chest. Time had done nothing to diminish his feelings for Jimaine, if anything, they were stronger now than ever. Working with her in their act was one thing, he could _almost_ keep a kind of professional distance. This was something else altogether. His face felt hot and he just knew he was going to make a fool of himself, again.

"Now watch what I do...left...no _your_ left, not mine...watch the tail...here, give me that thing." Jimaine held out her hand. Kurt looked at her with a raised eyebrow, but flipped his tail over to lay across her palm. She wrapped it around her waist like a belt. "Now, that's out of the way. Again..left..."

"I'm telling you, Jimaine, it's hopeless. These feet are _not _meant for dancing."

"Nonsense. How do you expect to keep cultivating that image of a romantic devil if you can't even woo a lady with a dance? Now concentrate."

An American band called _Boston_, was singing about someone named 'Amanda' on the little transistor. Kurt moved in time to the song, but was lost when he looked up to find Jimaine gazing into his eyes. He was suddenly drowning in those green depths. She blushed and curled her lips into a smile. His arm tightened around her and he could feel the warmth of her body, even through her sweater.

"Good, you're getting it."

"Hmm? Getting what?" Kurt murmured. He couldn't look away.

"Dancing," she whispered, inching her face closer, her lips parted.

The song ended and the moment was lost. Quickly, Jimaine stepped back, but was caught fast by an appendage that had a mind of its own. Kurt unwrapped his tail from her waist, blushing furiously and thankful for his dark coloring.

Glancing around, he felt as much as saw the glare Toni had fixed on him. It wasn't just Toni's attention he had, either, he noticed. Kurt looked into Stefan's dark, inscrutable face. Their eyes met and held. Kurt was the first to look away.

Feeling awkward, he made his excuses and wandered off into the night, alone.

Kurt considered returning home to the small trailer he now shared with his brother, but the thought of going back to that cramped and shabby place, even tinier than the one he grew up in, wasn't appealing. Yes, it afforded the two young men a measure of independence and privacy, but it didn't exactly feel homey. He veered away to walk in the woods, the music and voices of his friends fading. Out here, he wasn't likely to be disturbed. Even should he happen to stumble across someone else, his dark fur would conceal him in the shadows.

A nearly full moon hung in the sky, with clouds skittering now and again in front of it. There was a cool breeze that played across his face, caressing him like a lover. His path was aimless and he remained lost in his thoughts. Of course, Jimaine dominated those.

It seemed to Kurt that she had looked at him differently tonight, while they danced. In her eyes, he imagined he saw a reflection of his own feelings, and he smiled to himself. Was it possible that she could ever love him? Really love him, not as a brother or even a friend, but as a man? He was certain he had seen _something_.

He sat down by a small pond and let his mind continue to wander. What would her lips taste like? His own tingled at the thought. What about her smooth skin, so different from his? He imagined what it would feel like to touch the curves that her costume revealed so completely - those same curves that had been pressed against him only a short time before. The thought sent an insistent heat creeping over his body. He clenched his hands into fists and took a deep breath of the night air.

His mind created a life with her by his side, loving him. One day, he'd make enough money to buy der Jahrmarkt, and the two of them could run the circus together. He knew she wanted to travel, but surely that was only a phase. What other life did either of them know? They were happy here.

He envisioned a daughter as lovely as her mother, and his heart swelled at the thought of having a family of his own, not one borrowed. Then that image was overlaid by a child who resembled him. Kurt swallowed the lump that rose in his throat. How would Jimaine feel about that? Would she want to bring another child like him into the world, to face the same prejudices? Perhaps no children, then. Still, as long as the two of them were together...

He thought about how sure of himself he felt at times when he was with her - at least when he wasn't worried he was going to look like a love-sick fool. Maybe it was in the way she looked at him, daring him to be his best. Maybe it was how her direct acceptance of life made his frequent worries seem less significant. Whatever the case, she was able to touch the deepest part of his heart and strengthen it. There had never been a time in his life when they weren't close, and he didn't want to imagine one.

Kurt's pleasant reverie was interrupted by the sound of voices. One of them belonged to Jimaine. Curious, he moved closer, under the cover of darkness.

"I said no, Toni! What, do you think you can yell at me, then expect me to have sex with you afterwards?" Jimaine hissed furiously.

"Why you play the prude now, Jimi? Maybe you still thinking about someone else, eh?" Toni was glaring at her, his hand clenching and unclenching.

"What are you talking about? We were _dancing_, that's all."

"Did not look like just dancing. I see the way he look at you, and you look at him the same."

"You're imagining things, stop being a jealous ass." Jimaine crossed her arms.

"I am imagining? Then why no love for Toni tonight, hm?" He reached out and tried to embrace her again. Jimaine shoved him roughly away.

"Back _off_, I'm not in the mood!"

"Not in the mood? I show you a mood!" Toni grabbed her wrist roughly and raised his other hand to strike her.

Kurt launched himself at the Sicilian, landing with his fist planted solidly against Toni's mouth. He followed with a punch to the ribs, and a knee to the groin before Toni ever got in his first swing - a glancing blow that Kurt barely felt in his rage. How did that bastard dare to even think about hurting Jimaine?

The fight was over almost before it started, and he stood over the 'Greek god fallen to earth' in grim satisfaction. "Perhaps it wasn't my brother you should have worried about after all." Kurt smiled thinly.

Toni's only reply was a groan of pain.

Kurt turned to Jimaine then, to see if she was all right. He met her withering glare before she whirled on her heel and stalked away. Confused, he ran to catch up.

"Jimaine?"

"Feel better?" she snapped.

"What do you mean? I was protecting you..."

"_Protecting _me? That wasn't about _me_, Kurt!"

"How can you say that? He was about to hit you!" Kurt said indignantly.

"And if he had, I would have turned his prick into an earthworm and his balls into marbles. I'm a Szardos, remember?" Her voice dripped with sarcasm.

"You can _do_ that?" Kurt asked in a small, incredulous voice. He shook his head to dispel the visual. "That's not the point! What did you mean, it wasn't about you?"

"I mean it was about _you_. You've been wanting to do that since you were thirteen years old, and I just happened to give you an excuse. Oh, sure, you could cover it up by pretending to be the hero running in to save the day, rescuing the fair damsel in distress. Did you plan on me falling into your arms in a puddle of tears, eternally grateful?" Jimaine cut her eyes at him scornfully.

"I..." Kurt scowled. Damn, this wasn't going how he expected at all!

Stopping, Jimaine rounded on him, jabbing her finger into his chest. "Look Kurt, you aren't some swashbuckling hero and I'm _sure_ as hell not a damsel in need of rescuing, got it?"

"Fine. I was only trying to help." He held his hands up in surrender, but he was angry now.

She gazed at him, the ire dropping a notch. Shaking her head, she went on, "what do you think is going to happen if you pull something like that with the wrong guy? This time it was Toni the twit, who can bully just fine but can't fight his way out of a paper bag, but it might not always be like that. You can't go rushing in, risking your fool neck every time the whim hits - it's just going to get you killed one day!"

"It's _my_ neck!" Kurt shouted back.

Her eyes glistened. "And just how do you think _I'll_ feel if something happens to it!"

Kurt deflated, the fight gone out of him. This argument was because she had been _worried?_

"Jimaine, sweetheart..."

She looked away and put her hand up, interrupting him, "Stop. Enough. I don't want to hear it."

"But..."

"I said _stop_. Just leave me alone. I don't want to talk to you right now, Kurt."

He stared at her, frustrated and indecisive. She turned without another word and walked away.

* * *

Later, Kurt lay awake in the single bedroom he shared with his brother. There was just enough space in there for two twin beds with an end table between and a wardrobe they also had to share. He stared at the stained ceiling, replaying the argument in his mind.

He was still frustrated. What had Jimaine expected him to do, just watch? Any other girl would have been happy for his intervention, but not her! "Ach, women!" Kurt growled in disgust.

He heard Stefan's heavy, staggering tread approaching. Drunk again, it seemed. That was _just_ what he needed to deal with right now.

Stefan stumbled into the bedroom, reeking of gin. He didn't bother with a light, and collapsed across his bed. Kurt heard the thud of his brother's boots being kicked into the corner.

"I know you're awake over there, runt, I can see your eyes." Stefan muttered thickly.

"Yes, I am. Why?" Kurt asked, in no mood to talk.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?"

"Trying to fall asleep?"

"You know what I mean," Stefan snapped.

Kurt sighed. Oh this night just kept getting better. "No, I'm not sure I do, why don't you tell me?"

"What's say we talk about my sister - you know, the one you follow around like a puppy."

Kurt remained silent for a moment before replying, "what about her?"

"Just what do you suppose is going to happen? You think you're gonna live happily ever after with her or do you just want to fuck her?"

Kurt gritted his teeth at the crudeness. "I love her."

"_Love_ her? She's really got you under the Szardos spell, doesn't she?" Stefan chuckled, a low, almost mean sound.

Not wanting to hear this, Kurt didn't answer.

"Look, take my advice, don't do this to yourself."

"I didn't ask for your advice."

He felt Stefan looking at him in the darkness before his brother softly responded, "so you didn't, runt." Yawning, he added, "right, well I gotta get some sleep. 'Night."

A tense and challenging silence stretched between them. After a time, he heard Stefan's snores.

Sleep was a long time in coming for Kurt.


	6. Chapter 6

_**Chapter Six**_

For the next several months, Kurt kept very much to himself. He felt alone and begin to wonder about his place at der Jahrmarkt for the first time. Was this really where he wanted to spend the rest of his life? Was there something else for him out there other than the cheering of the crowd? It all seemed so superficial, somehow.

His attempts at apologizing to Jimaine had been met with cool indifference. Their conversations continued to be strained with an unnameable tension, but she refused to act as if anything had happened. An invisible wall had lodged firmly between them. Kurt longed to break through it and was despondent that he might have even lost her friendship. He determinedly wore a mask of normalcy, making jokes and keeping up the banter he was known for. Given time, she would come around, he hoped. On the bright side, it seemed as though she'd broken off with Toni for good, and the lion-tamer had taken to avoiding Kurt like the plague.

Stefan was gone much of the time. He had started dating a _nicht-Zigeunrerin _- a non-gypsy girl - much to Margali's disapproval. The tension between mother and son was thick enough to cut with a knife. Kurt and Stefan's conversation from the night of the dance hadn't been brought up again, and for that, Kurt was relieved. He still didn't know what to make of it.

That winter was the longest he ever remembered. The feeling of solitude, even when surrounded by people, persisted all through those long, cold months. He took extended walks through the mountains, taking the time to perfect his disappearing talent. He found he could reappear quite some distance away, provided he knew where he was going. Kurt enjoyed the freedom his gift offered him - he felt like nothing could hold him down. Any time he started to feel hemmed in by the winter camp, he jaunted off, pushing himself to go just a little farther than the last time. His dread of one day materializing inside some object kept him from taking it anything but seriously, though.

He longed to tell someone, but found himself unable to get the words out. He'd tried several times with Stefan - the one person he'd never kept secrets from - but he just couldn't bring himself to. No, this was his, alone.

By early spring, when time for the first show came around, Kurt was in a better frame of mind. Whatever happened, wherever his life took him, the pleasure of performing and captivating an audience was a tangible thing that he knew and loved.

He was in his small dressing tent, shared with Feuer, the fire-eater, making last minute preparations. He salved on the white grease-paint, grimacing at the smell and the feel of it on his fur. A part of him hated it - having to hide his face this way - but another part welcomed the safe anonymity this painted mask gave him. No matter how he felt, this face smiled gamely. His tail was already uncomfortably hidden in the trousers of his costume, but he'd yet to put on the ungainly boots that made walking so awkward.

Kurt listened to the tone of the crowd. It sounded like an excitable bunch. That was good, he hated a dull audience. He inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of straw, manure, popcorn and hundreds of bodies pressed together. Those things smelled like home to him. The din of voices rose in a cheer, and the high, lyrical music Jimaine used for her solo routine begin to play. He was finished here, he may as well hide and watch.

Seeing Jimaine move through the air, Kurt smiled. He never grew tired of the sight. She was a vision of grace and beauty. His professional eye watched technique out of habit. Good half-turn with a solid landing, the follow up momentum was just right. He frowned, watching the trapeze ropes as she swung into a back flip. She had hesitated too long, the rhythm was off. A dagger of fear pierced his heart when she missed the catch and started to plummet to the floor so far below. The crowd shrieked with horror, and Kurt reacted, not thinking any further about it. He disappeared with a rush of imploding air, reappearing below her in a cloud of smoke with his arms outstretched. "Relax your body, I've got you!" he shouted. She landed neatly in his arms, her face pale and her body shaking. The audience roared with applause - they thought it was all part of the act.

"Are you all right?" he whispered frantically.

Still stunned, she nodded, her arms winding up around his neck. "Okay, I guess maybe I might need rescuing on occasion." She smiled then.

"Well I..."

"Never mind," she interrupted, planting a kiss firmly on his lips. The cheering grew deafening. People were definitely getting their money's worth tonight, but Kurt didn't care. The feel of her mouth on his was more intoxicating than anything he'd ever known. He felt like he was floating on air, loosed from the constraints of gravity. Careful not to scratch her with his fangs, he opened his mouth, exploring hers tentatively, then with more ardor. Their hearts beat out the same rhythm. Gasping, she finally broke away, grinning wickedly. "Mmmm...later."

They exited with a flourish, borne of years in show business, and escaped backstage to the excited congratulations of the others.

"However did you pull that off, my friend?" Sabu exclaimed, clapping Kurt heartily on the shoulder.

"That was amazing, Blue!"

"Wow, what a show!"

"You need to make that a regular part of the act!"

Kurt smiled and nodded. He'd been worried all this time for nothing!

Herr Getmann, the ring-master and owner of der Jahrmarkt, finally interrupted, "an amazing addition, indeed, but you forget, the show is not over. I can hear the crowd getting restless. We can discuss this more later."

With that final word, he went out to introduce the next act.

Jimaine stayed by Kurt's side for the rest of the show, and their finale was the most moving it had ever been.

Afterwards, when they could finally get away from everyone else, they walked slowly out by the nearby lake, hand in hand.

Looking over to him, Jimaine finally asked, "So how did you do that, _really_?"

"I'm not sure exactly how it works. I found out I could do it by accident, back when I was having those headaches."

"You've been able to do it that long and didn't tell me?"

Embarrassed, Kurt nodded.

"Why?"

"I didn't know what you'd say - you or the others. I mean, I already look so different, and now this..."

"Oh Kurt..." She stopped, and turned to face him, taking his other hand in her own. "When will you realize that I'm perfectly fine with you being different? I love you, silly."

"Really?" He looked at her, hope shining in his eyes.

"Really. C'mere you." Jimaine leaned in and kissed him soundly, wrapping her arms around his neck.

The kiss started slowly, a gentle but thorough dance of lips and tongues. But it soon grew more demanding as she nibbled his lower lip and pulled his head forward to deepen the mating of their mouths. Kurt was reeling with the feel of it, and the hunger it awoke in him. It took all of his self-control to remain gentle. He dug his blunt fingers into her hips, pulling her closer to press against his need.

She opened the front of his costume and slid her hands underneath, stroking his fur, teasing and tickling one moment, then smoothing it down the next. They tumbled together onto a mossy patch near the shore. Jimaine slowly pulled off her costume, then smiling, helped him remove his own. His eyes feasted on what he had only imagined until now, and his hands and mouth soon followed. Her combination of soft curves and taut muscles entranced him and the salty taste of skin was finer than any wine.

Her hands and mouth explored him in turn, and by the time they moved to slake their desire, he had been reduced to writhing in anticipation.

Somewhat later, after taking a swim, they lay side by side on the bank, their clothes still discarded in a heap.

Jimaine grinned and giggled.

"What?" he asked, smiling himself.

"Nothing."

"Something. What are you laughing about?"

"I was just thinking that the tiny little spare tail you used to have isn't so tiny anymore." She grinned devilishly.

Kurt chuckled, looking satisfied.

She reached over and ran her hand over the fur on his chest, still damp from their swim. "So have you ever used the other tail?"

"Used...my tail?" He looked at her, uncertain he'd heard right.

"Yeah, you know..." Her eyes glinted with mischief.

"Jimaine!"

"What? So I'm a bad girl, sue me." She nuzzled his neck, her hand busy elsewhere.

"I happen to have a soft spot for bad girls," he grinned, letting his own hands roam.

"Doesn't feel very soft to me," she quipped.

Giggling, they sank back down together.

* * *

The rest of the year was like a dream come true for Kurt. He and Jimaine worked together, laughed together and played together. He'd never been so happy.

Barring a sharp look from Stefan, no one seemed surprised at the development, and Margali's lack of comment lent an unspoken approval to the match.

Things at the circus went on much the same as always - they made just enough to cover operation expenses, but no extra. The following autumn, when there was talk of der Jahrmarkt being purchased by an American named Amos Jardine, it was met with excitement. Maybe this rich Texan would make a difference.

Kurt met Jardine briefly, being the star attraction of the tiny circus. It became apparent that Jardine's interest was in him more so than the circus itself. The man wanted Kurt to travel to Florida, to join a show he claimed was thriving there. It wasn't a notion that Kurt found appealing, but Getmann had made it clear that Jardine could make things difficult for der Jahrmarkt if this wasn't agreed on. What could he do?

The plan was that Kurt would fly to America with this Jardine, establish himself there, then send the money to bring Jimaine over. Any extra he made, he would wire to Margali.

After tearful farewells and promises to write, he stepped onto the expensive private jet, bound for the big time.


	7. Chapter 7

_**Chapter Seven**_

I'm not an animal.

The cold iron bars don't seem to care. The filthy straw underneath me and my own stench suggest that statement might not be entirely true. My sharp, jagged fingernails and matted fur refute it entirely.

_"Ich bin kein Tier!"_ I shriek into the still night air.

The poor, deformed goat in the cage next to mine - surgically altered to resemble a unicorn - bleats in agreement. Other than that, I'm answered only by the sound of rain pattering down. It leaks through the roof and drips down on me, adding to my misery.

I don't know how long I've been here like this. It seems an eternity.

In the beginning I prayed, and convinced myself that God wouldn't leave me here to rot. For the first month or so, I scratched marks with my thumbnail on the wooden floor, underneath the straw, and planned what I would do when I escaped. Then I started to realize that God had apparently forgotten me. Now the days are a blur. The weather has gone from chilly to slightly warmer, but the trees here never lose their leaves, so I can't tell if spring has come. I try and note the passing of the full moon, but I'm not sure if it's three I've seen, or four.

God isn't the only one who has forgotten things. I no longer remember what it feels like to be clean. I can't recall what real food tastes like. All I've been given are scraps, not fit for a dog. The rancid taste makes me gag, and what little I manage to swallow often comes back up. Even the water I'm given, in a tin bowl by the door, is cloudy and has an odor. I've forgotten what it feels like to stand. The cage isn't tall enough for that, and I'm forced into a constant crouch when I'm not lying down. It's barely even long enough for me to stretch out.

I've forgotten the feel of Jimaine's arms, and the memory of her smile is beginning to fade, as well. I try and force my drugged mind to hold onto it, but it slips away like a feather on the wind.

I no longer recall what it is to have dignity, as I struggle to keep myself covered and stay away from the corner of the cage where my bodily wastes collect until someone decides to clear them.

I've forgotten what it feels like to be a man.

I shift around and try to find a comfortable position. The collar bites into my already raw neck, and the chain attached to it jingles. The rough straw scratches my bare side, making it itch, so I roll onto my back, but that's a mistake. The infected welts from the lash of a whip make me scream out in pain. My body is feverish and I'm wracked with chills. My sanity is slipping more every day. Harold - rather the goat next door - has started talking to me lately. He's not much of a conversationalist, and tells terrible jokes. No comedic timing whatsoever.

Will this never end?

I try, as I've done so many times, to disappear from this hell, but the same thing happens that always does. Nothing. Rather nothing but a blinding pain through my skull and a loss of consciousness.

When I next awaken, it is morning, and a crowd gathers to peer through the bars at me. The chain fixing me to the back of the cage keeps them 'safe', or so Jardine announces. I look on them with dull, uncaring eyes. They always say the same things.

"Mama, is it real?"

"Hey is that some kinda monkey you rigged up to look like that?"

"Damn, it's ugly!"

"If that's a real demon, like the sign says, what's it doin' in a cage in Florida?"

"Why doesn't it move?"

"That tail looks real!"

"Why do its eyes glow, are they painted?"

"It smells awful!"

"Hey mister, make it move!"

At this point, Jardine stabs his cane into my side, or perhaps my genitals, if I'm not fast enough to defend them. The resulting movement or howl of pain is a sure crowd-pleaser. They munch their popcorn contentedly after that. For a dollar, they can purchase a bag of feed to throw through the bars. It's the same stuff they feed the goat who has recently developed delusions of grandeur. The pellets taste like corn chips.

It's after hours now, I must have fallen asleep again. I'm awakened by my chain being tightened, pulling me fast against the back bars of the cage. A needle stabs into the back of my neck and then the world once again grows fuzzy and indistinct. Voices are muted and sound far away.

"Careful there, Earl, his hide's already tearing. Damn, he looks mangy!"

"Whaddya expect Amos? He don't half eat, an' yer whuppin' him too much. Ain't no need, he ain't got no fight left in him."

"Think you're right about that. Hose him down, put some of that horse salve on his back." I vaguely smell cigar smoke following the scratch of a Zippo.

The hands that rub my back are rough and calloused, but the ointment is soothing. My befuddled mind tries to work out if I should say thank you. I feel my body moved back into the cage, this time on fresh straw.

I struggle to remember how to speak, and I force a swallow down past the collar. I look at Jardine. If I had the strength, I think perhaps I would beg.

"_Bitte_...I am not an animal."

He stares back at me coldly. "No, you're a monster, an' now you're _my_ monster."

_"Nein..." _I whimper, ashamed at the frail tremor of my own voice.

He exhales a cloud of smoke in my face and walks away.

As I do many nights, I fall asleep with fantasies of what I'll one day do to that man. The gentle teachings of Father Wagner seem very far removed from this place.

"If it's real, why don't it do somethin'?"

"What, d'ya think it's some kinda monkey?"

Pellets striking my face awaken me. Judging by the sun, it's already mid-morning. How I could over-sleep in such conditions is beyond me.

"What _is_ that thing?"

"Dunno, but it's damn sure ugly as hell."

A little boy with curious blue eyes wanders very close to my cage. Brave lad, certainly more so than any of the others.

He peers at me, and I see something different in his eyes. He isn't seeing an animal, or a monster. "Help me." I whisper, my face pressed against the straw.

The boy's eyes widen in surprise, and he glances behind him to see if anyone else heard. They didn't. They've moved on to Harold the Great. He whispers back, "you can talk?"

I nod, at least as well as I can manage with the collar.

He chews his lip indecisively. "I don't live very far away. I'll try to come back tonight and get you out."

As quick as a darting fish, he reaches through the bars of the cage and pats my hand before running away to catch up with his family.

Could it be true? Might the boy really be able to free me? My heart warms with the tiniest flicker of hope, and I spend the rest of the day waiting restlessly.

Night comes, and as the hours of darkness pass, my hope diminishes. The child has forgotten, or perhaps he couldn't get away. I curl on the straw, wishing for the release of death.

The padlock holding the door of the cage rattles. I look up, and there stands the boy, a bent wire in his hand. He fiddles with the key hole, his tongue poked out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. I look around fearfully, certain even such a slight noise must be heard. Finally, the lock snaps open and the door to freedom swings wide. I move towards it, and am stopped by the chain still binding me. The boy peers around owlishly, then quietly steps into the cage with me. He leans close and jimmies the lock on my collar. The movement against my raw and bleeding neck is painful, but I don't care. It pops off. I'm free.

My mind is far more willing than my body, I'm afraid, and the young lad has to help me crawl out of the cage. The thing creaks alarmingly, but we remain in luck.

I've been cramped for so long, I find it difficult to stand, and have to content myself with walking in a hunched fashion for now. My eyes flicker to the back of the camp, and the cabin Jardine often stays in. No, I'm far too weak. Another time.

Still not speaking, the boy and I move away from this hellish place as fast as possible, given my condition. We only stop when the lights of camp are completely out of sight.

Shaking with fever and pained exhaustion, I collapse against a tree, reveling in the smell of freedom.

"C'mon mister, you can't stop yet, we gotta hide you."

"A moment, _bitte_. I can go no farther now." My breath wheezes and my head spins.

He nods and looks around nervously. A few minutes later, he wakes me and pulls at my arm to continue. As dawn starts to streak the sky, he shoves me into a shed where I find clothes, a blanket and food waiting. Bless the child.

"Nobody ever comes here since Dad built the bigger shed on the other side of our property. Just stay here and be quiet. I'll bring you something else to eat, later." He pulls the door closed behind him, and I sink into the first restful sleep I've had in months.

Several days later, and the drugs have worn off enough for me to travel. The food and rest have helped to restore me, though it will be months before I can regain all the weight I've lost. I bid the boy a heart-felt farewell, and walk into my future a free man.

As much as I might want to confront Jardine, my responsibility is to my family. I have no idea what the man will do to them now that I've escaped.

I make my way to the nearest international airport, and stowaway in the cargo hold of a non-stop flight bound for Germany.

The drone of the engines is soothing, its low rumbling vibration a promise of better things. Soon, I'll be home. I'll be a man again. No monsters here. I'll sit in a chair across the table from my mother and be fed from a plate rather than a tin bowl. The imprint from the collar will fade, given time. I'll sleep in a bed with my lover in my arms, rather than on straw. The cage will fade into memory, and I'll be just a man again.

* * *

Once I arrive, it takes me only a few days to finally make my way back to der Jahrmarkt.

"Jimaine!" I hiss in the darkness behind her trailer. "Jimaine!" I throw a pebble against the window, glancing around to make sure I'm not spotted. If Getmann sees me, I'll be back in a cage and bound for Florida before the sun rises.

I can see movement, and then the girl I love steps into the night, wrapped tightly in a robe.

"Jimaine, here!" I whisper.

Her eyes dart around, unable to spot me in the shadows. "Kurt?"

"Shhhh...over here."

She walks towards the sound of my voice, and then she is in my arms again. I breathe in the scent of her hair, and close my eyes against the tears that threaten to fall. Home. I'm home.

"Kurt, what are you doing here?" Jimaine steps back to look at me, her eyes wide with shock at my appearance. "What...what happened to you?"

I look into her innocent, lovely face and I can't bear the thought of telling her. The shame is too great. I keep my answer brief and devoid of details. "Jardine was lying. He put me in a freak show. It took awhile, but I'm home now."

She stares at me searchingly. "You can't stay here! If Herr Getmann catches you..."

The words feel like a blow, but I know the truth of them. If not here, then where? "I know," I answer.

She rubs her forehead tiredly, and I notice the dark circles under her eyes, and the new frown lines around her mouth.

"What's happened?" I ask her.

She looks away into the trees and chews her lower lip before she answers. "It's Stefan. He's disappeared."

"Disappeared! What do you mean?"

"Just that. He's been acting very strange since you left and, about a month ago, he just vanished. The last time anyone saw him was when we did a show in Winzeldorf."

Jimaine's fear and worry are palpable as well as contagious. Stefan might wander off for a few days, but never for longer than a week, and certainly not without sending word to someone.

I take her in my arms again, whispering against her hair, "I'll find him, I promise. Don't worry, sweetheart."

She nods, holding me close for long, precious moments.

I don't tarry. I can't stay there anyway, with Getmann still around. I'd only be endangering those I love.

I leave and make my lonely way south, to Winzeldorf.

It doesn't take long before I begin to hear disturbing rumors from the shadows. A murderous madman is loose in Winzeldorf. My heart constricts with fear, remembering a conversation from many years before. Could it be Stefan? I pray it isn't. I pray I won't have to fulfill that long-ago oath.

I search in earnest, and I find him in a matter of days. I discover him at the edge of town, near an abandoned building.

My mind reels at the sight, and my gorge rises. Stefan, covered in blood, the bodies of dead and dismembered children surrounding him. He laps at the blood like a dog, muttering to himself.

No, not Stefan. This can't be happening.

I approach him warily. Perhaps he can be hospitalized - helped in some way. I have to try.

"Stefan?" I call softly.

He looks up, his eyes dazed and uncomprehending, his expression lax. I see recognition dawn, and he smiles, a truly terrible sight. "Kurt! My brother, I've missed you!" He stands and embraces me. The blood of the innocents cover me now, sticky and still warm. Swallowing the bile that rises to my throat, I embrace him back - one last time.

He steps away and cocks his head to the side, his eyes glittering with madness. "He says you're welcome here, too."

"Who says that?"

"The moon." He points to a nearly full moon hanging in the sky.

"Oh Stefan, what have you done?" I ask, the horror overwhelming me.

"Done? Why I've rid the world of demons, that's what I've done!"

"Demons? Those are children! You've murdered innocent children!"

He looks behind him, his brows furrowed questioningly. "No, you can't be right. I saw them before they were all broken and I'm telling you, they were demons!"

His head turns quickly to the side, as if someone had called his name. "Stop it! I told you already, he's my brother!"

"They say you have to leave, now," he mutters apologetically.

Shaking, I watch him. Where is my brother? Who is this pitiful creature left in his body?

"No, no, no, no!" Stefan suddenly shrieks, pulling at his hair. He turns to me, enraged. "Why have you come here?"

"Stefan, please. I came to find you. Everyone's been worried. You need help. Please, let me help you."

"Help me? _You_, help _me? _You're one of them!"

"One of who?" I ask, my voice cracking.

"Them - the demons! I told Mama, I told her to leave the demon baby to die, but no!"

"Stefan..."

"I told Jimaine not to take the devil into her bed, but she did anyway! Do you really think she could ever love you? She pities you, the same as Mama did!"

"My brother, how can you say such things? I love you! We're family!"

"We're not family! You're no Szardos! No Szardos would have ever betrayed me this way!"

"I'm not betraying you, I'm trying to help you! I'm your brother!" I shout back.

His black eyes fixed on me, bottomless and vacant. "I have no brother."

Stefan attacks me wildly, raking my face with his nails and snarling obscenities. I try to restrain his flailing arms, but his mindless strength is too great. We fall to the ground, rolling in the dirt. He fights to kill another demon; I fight to survive.

He digs his fingers into my windpipe, strangling me. I disappear from his grasp and reappear behind him, wrapping my arm around his neck in a choke hold.

"Stefan, stop this!"

He snarls incoherently, saliva dripping from his mouth. He bodily slams me against a nearby wall, once, twice, three times. My hold loosens and he wrenches himself away, then turns, leaping for me. I roll to the side and take hold of him again. He frantically fights to be free of me and then I hear a terrible sound. A sharp crack, followed by silence. Stefan is in my arms, motionless. He's far too still. What have I done?

I feel for a life-beat that isn't there. I breathe my breath into his mouth, but it's too late.

"NO!" I howl. "No, Stefan, NO!" I cradle my brother, rocking him. The horror of what I've done is more than I can bear. Not Stefan, please God, not Stefan! The tears course down my face, streaking through the blood. I'm wracked by sobs so loud that I don't even hear the approaching lynch mob until they are very nearly on top of me.

"There's the murdering demon! Get him!"

I hesitate for a fraction of a second, and a rock strikes my head, followed shortly by another. White light explodes. A part of me wants to just lie down with Stefan, but my survival instinct takes over again, as it did in Florida. I will live, or at least try my best to. I stumble away, too dizzy and disoriented to teleport. Then they're on me. They strike me and kick me and a noose is looped over my head while someone rushes at me with a knife. Just before the blade enters my chest, the man wielding it freezes in place. Everyone freezes in place. Panting, I look around, trying to determine what's happened.

"I happened, young man. My name is Professor Charles Xavier." **

I look up and see a bald man in a wheelchair watching me.

"You did this? How? Vhy?"

"I run a school for gifted youngsters such as yourself - mutants." He smiles benignly at me, as if we aren't surrounded by blood thirsty, albeit frozen, townspeople.

"Mutant? I've heard the vord."

"You are a mutant. I can help you find your true potential."

Looking around and thinking of the past few months, I finally ask, "Can you help me be normal, Herr Professor?"

"After tonight, would you truly want to be?"

"Perhaps not. I vant only to be whole, if you can help me vith that, I vill go vith you." I don't add that my current alternatives aren't especially appealing, but he smiles as if he knows what I'm thinking.

"I believe you are Kurt Szardos, correct?"

I eye him, then turn to look at the countryside where I've spent my life. "Nein, there is no Kurt Szardos. My name is Kurt Vagner."

* * *

Giant Sized All New X-Men #1


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